


Dark in the city, night is a wire.

by aactionjohnny



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-27 21:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17170154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aactionjohnny/pseuds/aactionjohnny
Summary: The millionth time I’ve written these two assholes realizing they’re in love. Wintertime in New York and its legendary magic, and a Duran Duran title.





	1. Love is watching someone die

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how long this will be 
> 
> Some implied college Pete/Rusty probably
> 
> I love Rose Whalen

 

He’s lulled by the soft, steady beeps from the monitor, comforted by the darkness of the room and even the scratchy hospital blanket he’s been given. Doubled-up and fresh from the warmer. His mother, as she has been for hours, is sitting in a stiff and ancient chair at the Action Man’s bedside. She hasn’t slept, just stayed up holding his hand and speaking and singing quietly as if that might wake him from his daze. When he talks, it’s nonsense. Expressive aphasia. The doctor has been keeping Billy updated, using him as a funnel to make it easier for everyone else to understand. 

And he stays for hours, because he can’t stand the thought of her being alone.

“William, you really ought to head home…” she mumbles, not turning her head. Her old eyes have been fixed on her boyfriend for days. “Peter will miss you…”

He rolls his eye because he knows she won’t see it.  _ Miss him,  _ yeah right. Asshole is probably up playing video games with his headset on, yelling into the microphone at Rusty, a burrough away and just as childish. 

“He sleeps better alone,” he says. It’s a many-layered lie. Because they’re not the item everyone thinks they are, because Billy knows he sleeps best with his company. Like a security blanket or a stuffed animal, maybe. He wakes up in the middle of the night and places a hand on his giant head as if it anchors him. “And I don’t wanna leave you, mom.”

“I’ll be fine, baby doll,” she says, finally tearing her eyes away from the hospital bed. “You should go. It’s...you ought to spend as much time with him as possible, because you never know when—“ She croaks a little, holding a hand to her lips. She won’t stop crying, he wonders how there’s anything left.

“Mom—“

“Don’t waste it…” 

He shuffles over to her and she folds onto him for an embrace. He rubs his small hands up and down her back as he’s done so many times.

“You found someone to love, William, and you need to make the most of it.”

He sighs, staying silent, staring over her shoulder flatly, looking over Rodney’s still body. His arms are elevated by pillows. His gown is stained with a little bit of blood; they’ve had to start so many new IVs, his old veins all used up from years of abuse. An oxygen cannula in his nose, EKG leads spreading from his chest like a spider’s web. He can’t help it, by his mother’s suggestion, but imagine Pete in the same position. He’s made of weaker stuff than the Action Man, though. He gets a cold and it’s like the world is ending.

“Fine, I’ll...I’ll go home,” he agrees, tightening his arms around her before letting go entirely. “But call me if anything changes, alright?”

She nods and brushes a hand down his cheek.

“Give Peter a kiss for me, alright?” 

“Uh...yeah. I will.”

It’s a short but frigid walk to the subway station. Usually he has Pete next to him, like a shield against the wind. He has to jog, little legs tired and achy from being curled up for so long, to catch the Coney Island-bound Q. This always happens, and Pete always insists on not running to catch it, because he has to look like a calm, collected, jaded New Yorker even though they’ve hardly lived here six months. It’s hard to get Rusty to believe why  _ that’s  _ the reason they’re late sometimes. He’s full of accusations and winking.

The train is full of Brooklynites making their ways home from nights out in Manhattan. Lucky people who don’t have worried mothers to dote on. People holding hands, buzzed and in love.  _ You found someone to love… _ maybe that’s true, but certainly not the way she thinks. It’s a different kind. The kind you don’t talk about, god forbid they ever say a genuine word to one another. Billy’s sure he’ll never have what these strangers have, what his mother has. Giddy looks on your face or worrying at your bedside. Maybe that’s a blessing in disguise.

He gets off at 7th Avenue, stops by the liquor store for some wine that Horace asked him to pick up. He feels sometimes like an errand boy, a live-in aid, though he knows Pete does his part as well. They help clean, they talk the old folks to the doctor. They do the grocery shopping. Together, usually, arguing in the cereal aisle over types of granola. 

When he arrives home the house is largely silent. He can hear only the faint sound of the television in their bedroom as he climbs the stairs, and he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed. In a way there is a comfort to how predictably irresponsible Pete is. The sameness of it, the routine. Knowing he’ll come home to the same mess every night. 

_ You never know… _

He perished the thought as he opens the door to their room, mumbling something about how he’d better not be jerking off, and finds Pete asleep on their loveseat, gaming headset all askew, the startup menu on an endless loop. Billy sighs. The same mess every night, and he’ll cover him with the same blanket. He’ll whisper the same vague greeting and turn off the console.

“Goodnight, Pete,” he says, making sure the blanket is up around his shoulders. He always gets cold. Their heating bill in the trailer was ever-astronomical… Knowing he’s asleep, dreaming, he goes on. “My mom said you’d be missing me…” 

And he cannot help but run a mechanical palm over the soft swath of Pete’s hair. He feels...compelled. As if it’s natural, easy.  _ Someone to love… _ Not like that, not like that. They’ve made that very clear, despite everyone’s insistence.  _ Pete  _ has made that very clear, balking each time as if it’s the most offensive thing he’s ever heard.

And it only hurts because Billy knows he couldn’t find it anywhere else, even if he doesn’t have it in Pete.


	2. I met a woman, she had a mouth like yours, she knew your life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete has emotions and comes to the hospital to visit Rodney.

_ My mom said you’d be missing me. _

He pretends to stay asleep. He keeps searching for ways to pass the buck. Keeps trying to make sure Billy’s the first one to be tender and sweet. Like one night he’ll say something incriminating.  _ Incriminating _ , as if it’s punishable to love him. It would be a stupid idea, and Billy’s a damn genius.

He keeps his eyes shut when that hand runs over his hair, fighting the urge to look up at him and smile. To grab his hand and bring it to his lips.

He hates how he hopes Rose is right. That he’s missed when he’s not there. That Billy knows the same emptiness he does. What an awful thing to wish on your friend…

But he’s never been a good person. Billy knows that better than anyone, but still he shares a room with him, still he sits and sleeps beside him. He’s too good for him. How many lives has he saved while Pete sat in the background pretending to matter? Countless. 

But Rusty’s told him to stop feeling sorry for himself. Some nights, when they’re half-drunk and Billy’s already asleep on the couch, he gets mean. He gets brutal.  _ Oh get over it White, clearly you’re still hung up on me. Jackass. Look what you’ve got right in front of you.  _ And their bleary eyes travel to Billy, drooling onto the suede with one short arm hanging over the cushions.

And he’ll have another drink, and they’ll fall into their routine of shame. They’ll end up making the same mistakes they’ve always made together, and Pete will wake up feel guilty and empty.  _ If you want me to move on, stop fucking me,  _ he tells him. But he’s lying. He’s moved on from everything but the giant void in his heart that he pretends can be filled by sex. In the morning he’ll carry Billy to the lab for aspirin and electrolytes.  _ What happened last night, White?  _ And he won’t tell him, like he owes him loyalty in that way.  _ Ya fell asleep, pally. Like always. _

He won’t betray his act, won’t reveal to Billy that he’s wide awake and sorrowful. He wants to ask how Rose is doing, if Rodney’s looking well. He’ll come with him next time, with flowers. 

 

-

 

When they get to the hospital, Billy’s already tired, having not slept well. He leans against the wall of he elevator with heavy bags beneath his eyes, holding close a useless cup of coffee.

Pete has the flowers. Like they can heal a man. They’re more for Rose than Rodney. She hardly smiles these days, and despite the discomfort of making a little old lady happy that Pete feels, he keeps doing it.  _ William is so lucky to have you. _ If only she knew. If Pete tried, he could make it true. He could care for him like Rusty swears he already does.

“Oh! Boys!” Rose is quick to the door, spreading her arms to embrace them both at once. “You are so sweet to always bring flowers…” She holds the bouquet to her chest and smells it. There’s that smile, even if it’s strained.

Rodney has to get an EEG, and Billy insists on going with him. Insists on looking at the readings along with the technician. It’s annoying, and it’s overbearing, yet Pete can’t help but feel endeared, charmed. He’s a sweet man. He’s too good for him, too kind and caring. Pete stays behind in the room with Rose, organizing all the well-wishing cards and vases of flowers.

“Oh Peter, I’m just so tired,” she says, dropping her hands to her sides. She’s in front of the window, looking out on the snowy city below. “I—“

Oh Jesus. She’s crying. She’s crying and Pete is the one who has to see it. Unsure, timid, he approaches and places a hand on her shoulder.

“Uh...d’ya wanna...talk about it or somethin’?” he asks, nearly wincing at his own incompetence. She falls into him and the sobbing begins, a flood upon his chest. He tries to ignore his disgust, the image of old lady snot all over his pristine white jacket. This is Billy’s mom. This is the woman who makes him soup when he’s sick and gave him a stocking for Christmas. He’d be even more of an asshole not to let her cry on him. She must have been holding it in.

“Oh, please don’t tell Billy,” she pleads gently, muffled by Pete’s shirt. “He thinks I’m being so strong…”

“Hey it’s...it’s alright…” He rests his arms over her back for a hesitant sort of hug. “It’s ya boyfriend, n’...” His eyes travel over to the hospital bed. “...I’d be upset, too.” He’d be worried, and restless. 

“That’s what I told William.” She sniffs and pulls away, keeping her hands on his arms and looking up at him with her tearful eyes. “You two need to cherish one another and stay by each other’s sides, because you— you never know—“ Her crying starts anew, and this time, Pete doesn’t hesitate to wrap her up in an embrace. 

“I wouldn’t let anythin’ happen to him, Rose.” Not again, at least. His history of aloofness and abandonment has been dying off for years. Ever since he was kidnapped by the Investors. “He’s...ya know…”

He feels her dainty hands tighten onto his sleeves, feels her nod against his chest.

Of course. She’s the only one he can be frank with, because she already believes they’re in love. He can lie to rusty. He can lie to Billy. But he can’t lie to a sweet old lady crying in his arms.

“I love ‘im so much…”

“He loves you too. He tells me so.”

His eyes grow wide and, as if worrying he’ll fall to the floor, his grip on her gets a little tighter.

“O-oh yeah?”

“Yes, dear. After a drink or two, he just can’t keep his mouth shut about you.”

 

—

 

They choose to walk to the farther subway station, exhausted from the sorrow of watching Rodney lay there, but eager to eat those feelings away. Even in the short time they’ve lived there, they’ve become protective of New York pizza just like everyone else.

They split a small pie, sitting in the window of this little hole-in-the-wall joint, paint on the walls peeling, constant shouting from the kitchen. But it’s  _ their  _ place. It’s the only place that serves Mr. Pibb instead of Dr. Pepper.

“Whatchya think Mr. Pibb looks like?” Pete asks, mouth half-full of pizza.

“I dunno...for some reason I always picture you.”

“Yer kiddin’—“

“Maybe it’s the voice. Mr. Pibb would talk like you.”

Pete swallows his bite, hardly chewed sufficiently, and he feels a lump in his throat. 

“I  _ am _ a maker of fine, off-brand beverages.”

“Now  _ that’s  _ something we should sell Rusty on.”

“VenTech soda? I can already taste the radiation.”

They snicker like children, hands over their mouths to keep the grease from falling out.

The ride home is silent. He feels like he’s tearing apart a daisy, looking at Billy’s eyes fluttering open and closed.  _ He loves me, he loves me not. _ It’s surreal to have heard it, even from someone else. 

He grimaces to think of what Rusty will say. And Hatred. And Brock. And Shore Leave.

Oh god...how is he realizing just now how  _ transparent _ they are? His cheeks feeling warm, he tucks his face into the collar of his jacket.  _ Fuck _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistah Pibb
> 
> I got plannnns they’re multiplyin
> 
> It’ll get more exciting at some point I promise


	3. Venus in Furs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an arch a-comin'

Across the bridge, in the lofty apartments of midtown Manhattan, Gary walks the length of the giant window like he’s on patrol. He can, quite literally, see their house from there.

“Twenty-one! Stop gawking and get in here.”

They’re visiting their Little Villain, and he tries so much not to laugh at how accurate that is. St. Cloud, in all his impish glory, sits cross-legged beside that quiet albino on his couch in his winter home. Must be nice.

“I was _ discussing _ with our protege how we can get his rank increased to at least a three,” The Monarch says, patting the couch cushion, bidding him to sit. 

“Hmyes, I find it rather boring to stay on the low end of all the hubbub,” St. Cloud tells them, tapping his fingers on his knee. “I do, after all, have a sidekick--” he places one tiny hand on Pi Wai’s arm, and then goes on, “and I do believe my multi-million dollar homes are sufficient enough to call a  _ lair. _ ”

“That’s true, but what about the Quiboy?” Gary interjects, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. “He has nothing but his mom’s house and a laboratory in _ our  _ arch enemy’s basement. That’s a conflict of interest if I ever heard one. Like, huge.”

“Hn, yeah…” The Monarch leans back and strokes his beard. “But I guess their education mixed with all the technology they have at their disposal might level the playing field. If they would like, I dunno,  _ use _ it.”

It’s true. So far most of what their ‘ _ arching _ ’ has been is just snide remarks and brinkmanship.

“We’ve gotta do something big, St. Cloud. Something that will make them realize you aren’t fucking around,” Gary tells him. The Monarch doesn’t interject, and he tries not to be too proud of the trust he’s put in him.

“Oh, well that won’t be a problem at all,” St. Cloud says, grinning wide and tilting his sunglasses down. Pi Wai giggles beside him like they’ve got some sort of secret. “I have something perfect planned.”

 

\--

 

“I am not wearing that Killer Drone outfit again, Billy!” Pete protests. Of course that’s what he’s concerned about now that they’ve gotten their threat letter.

“Would you relax? We have time to figure something else out,” he tells him swiping the letter from his hands and sticking it on their mini-fridge like it’s some kids artwork. 

“I’ll just wear my old outfit--”

“With the--” Billy snorts. “--the big dishwashing gloves and the maternity pants? Absolutely not.”

“Hey, I designed that myself…”

“Yeah, and when you said you wanted to I thought you’d come up with something...not ugly.”

“Well now you’re just bein’ mean--”

“Because you’re usually so stylish, jackass! I’m trying to compliment you…” And of course, that kindness comes with a price. Billy won’t even look at him, stares holes into his phone as he texts Rusty asking him for Enzo’s number. “St. Cloud is expecting a lot of fanfare, and we’re gonna give it to him.”

It will be a worthy distraction. The Action Man’s been a bit more arousable the past few days, but his mobility is limited. The brain scan showed improvement, but it’s not enough to make Billy optimistic. It’s not enough to get Rose to stop wringing her hands and staying up all night.

And it doesn’t help that White’s ben acting weird. Nervous, like a schoolchild. Stammering and withdrawing where they used to be so close. And Billy, just as bad, refuses to ask him why. And he knows, he _ knows, _ that there is nothing between them that is better left unsaid. He knows because Rose has told him so. Rusty’s told him so. His daydreams told him so, too. Just this morning, over breakfast, he imagined them somewhere else. Somewhere not his mother’s dining room. A smaller table, big enough for two. Their hands clasped, oatmeal steaming because they aren’t getting any younger, and they need to start caring for themselves.

A place all their own. Like they used to have, but not so dingey. 

 

\--

 

They enter Enzo’s shop to the sound of that little ringing bell and the begrudged meowing of that ancient cat. It always feels too fancy for Pete, when he goes there. Like he’ll be judged.

“Ah!” Enzo shouts from behind the counter, clasping his hands together. “If it isn’t my favorite a-couple! The pink man and his tiny companion!” He strides toward them and places a hand on each of their shoulders. 

“Oh, uh, we’re not--” Pete tries to interject, but then Billy smacks him in the leg. Best not to disappoint the man who’s going to make them look like real heroes.

“I have been sketching designs for you in my spare a-time!” Enzo proclaims, grabbing them both by the wrist and leading them to the counter. He brings out his hefty book of designs and slams it on the table, open for them to see what he’s been working on, and then walks away to close the blinds and lock the door.

The sketches are gorgeous. The man is a true artist, and even in the posing of his gesture drawings he seems to capture the way they stand. Billy, all stout and sure, so present despite his size. And Pete, willowy, waif-like, and with some sassy flourish that Shore Leave would have a field day over…

“I like this…” Pete notes, running a finger over the drawing, soft so as not to smudge the pencil. “See? Different pants,” he tells Billy.

“They’re...tight.”

“Would you make up your mind, fella?”

Their bickering is stymied by another firm pat on their backs.

“Come, I musta finish measuring you. Undress and I will retrieve my tools.”

And like a breeze, he’s gone. Pete’s charmed by how thrilled Enzo seems to be...but now they have to undress.

It ought to be nothing new, of course. They’ve seen one another in all manner of nudity. But now... _ he loves you too, he tells me so _ …

As if testing the truth, Pete undoes the buttons of his jacket slowly, the look on his face coy and knowing. Like he knows a damn thing about seduction. But Billy, ever oblivious, sheds his suit and shirt like he’s getting ready for bed.

He’s so damn cute like that. The grin on his face is infectious. 

But Pete can’t help the way he flexes his wiles. He can’t help the way he peels his leggings off like a goddamn burlesque dancer, rolling them down his thighs, his knees, his ankles.  _ Handsome, _ Billy’s called him.  _ Svelte _ . He hates himself for using it to his advantage. Another way to pass the burden of honesty on to Billy, to try to get him to exclaim _ oh my god, you look so hot, _ as if those words wouldn’t sound so weird coming from him.

He stretches his arms and yawns, keeping Billy in her peripherals, hoping to catch him staring.

And when he does, he coughs, utterly unprepared for the chance that his little plan might actually  _ work _ .

“What, uh...what ya lookin’ at?” he asks.

And, to his surprise, Billy doesn’t look away and scoff. He smiles up at him, reaches for his skinny wrist to hold.

“I need to talk to you…” 

Pete swears he sees Billy’s ears turn a little red.

“I need to talk to you, too--”

“Ah!” Enzo enters the room once again, draped in measuring tape and carrying a pin cushion in the crook of his elbow. “Let us begin, a-no? We will start with the small one.”

And just like that, Pete remembers it’s winter. He curls in on himself in his sudden cold. Maybe it’s for the best if the opportunity never presents itself. Because what’s next? They just hold hands everywhere they go? They tell everyone, and they all laugh in their faces because they already knew? Pete would have to call his mom, and he’s been ignoring her. They’d have to go on Craigslist and find a real place to live together…

It’s just easier to keep things as they are. The only thing that has to change right now is their costumes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pete trying to be seductive.........boy why

**Author's Note:**

> I know okay???? Don’t @ me but please do lmao


End file.
